


Coverslip

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4996921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin returns to find Bilbo in his favourite state of dress</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Robe

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for annfrie’s “I think Bilbo in his nightgown is so cute and hot and I would love to read some Thilbo smut involving Bilbo wearing his nightgown” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20879359#t20879359). (I wasn’t sure if they meant his robe in the films or an actual nightgown, so I’ll do a 2nd drabble later.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He comes sooner than he expects, because he sped along the way and convinced the eagles to take him farther—hobbits are no threat to them. This is hardly the first time he’s been back, but every time it feels new, _special_ , and he looks supremely forward to it, no matter how much he hates to leave Erebor behind. 

He knocks, and at first the house is quiet, as most are in Hobbiton at this hour. It’s dark enough that he’s only past two hobbits on the way, and both turned to _stare_ at him. It reminds him vaguely of the way Bilbo used to be, fussier than ever, at the start, when dwarves still made his eyes grow huge. Now Thorin doesn’t feel the least bit sorry for arriving at night, because he knows Bilbo will be happy to see him.

After a bit of shuffling, the door wrenches open, an angry look on Bilbo’s cute face that disappears immediately when he sees who it is. He doesn’t get a single word of scolding out. He lights up instead, crying, “Thorin!” And then he’s laughing and lunging into Thorin’s thick arms. Thorin holds his little lover back, squeezing tight. He missed the feel of Bilbo’s round middle and the scent of his honey hair. It takes a minute for Bilbo to step back, exclaim, “Come in!” and usher him inside.

When the door of Bag End is shut behind him, and he’s properly under the ceiling light and various candles about the place, he realizes that Bilbo’s in his robe again. It’s the same patchwork one Bilbo wore when Thorin first set foot here. Bilbo looks adorable in it, as he does in most things. Belatedly, Thorin notices his bare legs, and the peak of his collarbone beneath it. Staring, Thorin drops his bag off his shoulder, which Bilbo hurriedly picks up and places on a chair before Thorin can do any damage to his home. As soon as Bilbo turns back, Thorin sticks a finger right into the top of Bilbo’s robes, tugging Bilbo one step forward by it and parting it enough to see, to his delight, that Bilbo’s wearing nothing underneath. 

Bilbo hurriedly clamps it back over himself, blushing pink across his ripe cheeks and muttering, “It’s hot this time of year, and I was just about to go to sleep.”

“Nude?” Thorin asks playfully. He can’t seem to keep the wolfish grin off his face. Bilbo wrinkles his nose, somewhere between a scowl and a pout, but it just makes Thorin grin wider.

“Already causing trouble I see,” Bilbo notes, like dwarves can’t do anything else. He’s not far from wrong. 

Thorin hushes him by closing the distance between them and pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. He murmurs, “I meant no offense.” Bilbo’s lashes flutter, face tilting up towards him. “You know I love it,” Thorin purrs, “when I catch you improperly dressed.”

A shiver runs through Bilbo. Husky, he whines, “It isn’t _right._ ” Hobbits have such an odd definition of that. 

One step around Bilbo, then another, and Thorin presses forward, so that Bilbo has to stumble back, and then Thorin can push him right up against the door. Bilbo flattens into it, just as beautiful in the candlelight as Thorin remembers. Thorin’s seen him do such great deeds, but he gets flustered quickly, and it’s easy for Thorin to grind into him, to press two hands against his knees and run right up his thighs, scrunching the robe out of the way. Bilbo throws his little arms around Thorin’s shoulders and _gasps_. His legs are a little hairy, nowhere near a dwarf’s, shapely and plump and fun to _squeeze_. Thorin tilts to growl in Bilbo’s pointed ear, “I like that it makes it so easy to access you, though.” Thorin cups his hands along the inner curves of Bilbo’s thighs, his knuckles brushing over the treasure already hardening for him, and then he withdraws. He slips his hands back into the top instead, so he can spread it open that way, and feel Bilbo’s flat breasts. 

Bilbo’s already trembling. He buries his face in Thorin’s shoulders, already so undone—nowhere near the proper thing he used to be. Thorin means to keep teasing, but the closeness gets to him too, and he finds himself groaning, “I missed you so much.”

When Bilbo murmurs, “Me too,” Thorin can’t take it any more. He rips away Bilbo’s sash, leaning back so that the folds fall right open, and Thorin gets a perfect view of his gorgeous lover framed in patchwork colours. He leans in to kiss Bilbo’s nose, then Bilbo’s mouth, down Bilbo’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone, over his chest and his stomach, until Bilbo’s cock is poking, hard, into his throat. Bilbo moans, “ _Thorin_ ,” and drapes right over him. 

So Thorin grabs his legs and rises up, to Bilbo’s frantic squeak, and Thorin carries him and his open robe right over to the bedroom.


	2. Nightgown

Balin’s letter is all good news, as he knew it would be; at the first sign of trouble, Thorin would have to return early. But it seems he’s built Erebor up again to survive without its king, and by the time the bedroom door opens, he’s reached the end of the scroll. 

He’s already placing it on the nightstand when Bilbo shuffles in, in that sheepish sort of movement he does when something unusual has happened. He’s got his robe wrapped around himself, and instead of clambering straight into his bed— _their_ bed, while Thorin’s here—he comes only to the side of it, just out of Thorin’s reach. 

The moonlight seeps in through the window to highlight Bilbo’s blush. He fiddles with his hands for a moment. Thorin shuffles over to make more room, pushing the blanket down his lap and patting the mattress beside him, but Bilbo still doesn’t move, so Thorin asks warily, “What is it?”

“I, um... I made a new purchase today,” Bilbo responds, his hands falling to the sash that holds the robe closed about his waist. Thorin lifts an eyebrow. Bilbo still hesitates, then, finally, he sighs, and draws it open, holding each side out to show off his stout body and the fabric covering it. 

Bilbo’s cutest like this, when his face is on fire and his mouth makes that funny squiggly line it does, nose wrinkling nervously. But Thorin can’t spend much time looking at Bilbo’s face, because the rest of him is covered in the thinnest fabric Thorin’s ever seen. It’s light, delicate, and full of holes—lace, accented with white ribbons here and there, the stuff in between sheer with a faint shimmer to the surface. It’s cut flat across his breast with frilled edges and two thin straps holding it on over his round shoulders. It slips down his body beneath, pulled tight across Bilbo’s girth so that it looks nearly painted-on in places, and then it wafts over Bilbo’s plump thighs in a more loose skirt. There’s a small bow on either side of Bilbo’s hips, and underneath, Thorin can see the outline of the smallest pair of panties he’s ever beheld, and the shape of Bilbo’s cock straining hard against it.

“I know it’s a bit silly,” Bilbo blurts, shuffling in place, so that Thorin’s gaze is drawn right between his legs, hoping the movement will be too much to hold Bilbo in. “But when we were talking the other day about how dwarves don’t necessarily allocate clothes to genders, I thought...”

“I love when you think,” Thorin growls. It almost always bodes well for him—somehow, Bilbo always manages just the right trick, which Thorin himself would’ve never thought of. He spreads his arms, inviting Bilbo forward, and Bilbo grins wide, awash with relieve. He slips out of his robe and climbs onto the bed, the lift of his knee hiking the nightgown further up his thigh, and Thorin nearly rumbles like a hungry beast. He should’ve known when he first set foot in Bag End that this handsome genius would be the end of him. 

He gathers Bilbo easily up into his arms, Bilbo soft and pliant. Bilbo lets himself be settled atop Thorin’s lap, which puts them at nearly the same height, Bilbo maybe a little taller now, with his hands threading up in Thorin’s long hair. He pecks Thorin’s forehead, only for Thorin to set on him. Thorin jerks him forward so hard and fast that Bilbo gasps and clings to him, while Thorin opens his mouth wide along Bilbo’s shoulder and grinds the silken fabric against his own bare chest. He can feel the heat of Bilbo’s flesh beneath, and the few hairs flattened by the nightgown, Thorin’s own fur gaining static as he rubs them together. The bulge between Bilbo’s legs rests perfectly against his own. Bilbo, though squeezed so hard he should have no room to breathe, manages to rock himself wantonly against Thorin, while moaning lewdly in Thorin’s ear. 

Thorin mouths at him, touches him, runs greedy hands all over his body and squeezes chunks of fat beneath the nightgown, somehow made more tempting by the barrier. It takes a good deal of effort for him to pull back again. He only does it so he can slip his thumbs into the straps and draw them down Bilbo’s shoulders, tucking the neckline beneath Bilbo’s rosy nipples. Then he sets to licking them and sucking them to hardness, while Bilbo runs through his hair and rocks and keens. While Thorin’s tugging on his left bud with careful teeth, Bilbo moans, “ _Thorin_... you like it, then...?” 

Thorin releases Bilbo’s chest, leaving it reddened and glistening with spit. He kisses the crook of Bilbo’s neck, Bilbo’s chin, and finally, Bilbo’s mouth. Afterwards, he purrs against Bilbo’s lips, “I like anything you’re in.” Bilbo’s snorts but smiles. Thorin grins like a wolf. 

Then he tackles Bilbo right down, ready to ravish him.


End file.
